


To the Knuckles

by Darrasu



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emetophilia, Finger Sucking, M/M, Vomit, gagging, lip biting, saliva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darrasu/pseuds/Darrasu





	To the Knuckles

                “Open your mouth.”

                It isn’t a question, want or a plea, but a _demand_. Tanned fingers hold a pale chin, pulling a lightly scarred and pierced face toward himself, green hues focusing onto a pair of amber ones. Both parties are silent, staring at one another for a moment more—there isn’t any sense of relaxation or yearning, only hate hidden by a wall of _lust_. Locus it still waiting for his orders to be followed, irritation rising every passing second that his _partner_ doesn’t listen.

                Felix is only standing there, a wide, shit-eating grin spread over his features, face only inches away from Locus’, and yet, he makes no move or acknowledgment to what he was told. Felix’s own hands are gripped against green-trimmed shoulder pads, nails scraping against the paint purely to mark it up and piss the other off at a later time.

                “ _Felix_.”

                A growl rumbles through his speech, fingers gripping Felix’s jaw tight as he’s pulled closer, nicked and chapped lips drawing back in a sneer as teeth snap at the other mercenary’s bottom lip. He bites and pulls, _hard_ , the skin of pale lips changing to a red before being freed again, Locus giving another squeeze of the jaw to follow.

                “ ** _Open_**.”

                The orange accented merc slowly lets his lips part, tongue flicking out and licking across his abused lip, never once breaking the eye contact he held between himself and Locus. He’s challenging his partner, edging him forward, and now, finally allowing him to take whatever control he wanted for the time being.

                With Felix’s lips finally parted index and middle fingers leave the jaw they hold, now slipping passed lips and teeth, a raise of the brow all that is needed to tell the other what to do. Mouth closes around the knuckles of Locus’ fingers, tongue licking the bottom of tips and sliding back to the knuckle. Saliva begins to wet the skin, fingers being pushed further into Felix’s mouth, nails rubbing along the roof as they slide to the back of his throat. The merc sputters, eyes squeezing shut as the feeling of his throat locking up causes him to jolt, but it only takes a moment for muscles to relax again, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils.

                Locus seems almost impressed, the faintest of smirks tugging the corner of his lips—Felix was certainly faring better than _last_ time, but of course; he wasn’t finished yet. Fingers jab at the back of his partner’s throat, tears pricking in the corner of amber eyes as he attempts to keep from gagging, fingers clutching harder against the armor they held.

                The longer they were held the worse the feeling became, stomach lurching every time he attempted to swallow, a gargled gag slipping out. Locus finally pulls back, fingers quickly slipping from Felix’s mouth, saliva coated digits being wiped onto the other’s orange tank-top.

                Once Locus’ fingers leave his throat the mercenary lurches forward, unable to stop himself from gagging, stomach contents rising up his throat and forcing themselves out onto the ships hard flooring. Locus had taken a step backwards, finding himself in the safe-zone and free of vomit splattering onto his armor, now looking down at Felix, lip pulled up in disgust.

                “Clean yourself up and get back to work.”

                The command is the last Felix hears before heavy footsteps are a sign that the green-trimmed ‘ _soldier_ ’ was taking his leave. A hand rests to his stomach as the other wipes saliva away from his lips, the merc swallowing back the aching feeling in his throat, an irritated groan forcing itself from raw vocals.

                “ _Fuck you_.”


End file.
